Coping Mechanisms
by pegasusdmac
Summary: We lost the war, we lost our friends, and we lost all hope.  We all chose to deal with the aftermath in different ways, and those choices and mistakes may haunt us, but how else can we cope?  Dark AU
1. Annabeth

**Warning: As the rating suggests, this fic is adult-themed. Adult content includes: language, sex, incest, alcoholism, physical abuse, and suicide.**

**This fic is far different from anything I've ever written, so it may be shit. This story was inspired by a fic called _and few return _by Incendiarist. It will be 8 short chapters with each chapter told from a different character's pov.**

**Let me know what you guys think, good or bad.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own PJO.**

**-dmac**

Setting: Camp Half-Blood post-TLO with the Titans winning the war. (AU)

Annabeth

It's been three years, three long, miserable years since everything went to Hades. When the Titans won the war, everything changed, the world changed, I changed. Most would say I'm lucky to be alive considering all but about a dozen demigods were killed in the war, but I don't feel lucky at all. Often, I wish I'd just died with them, died with Percy. But I didn't die, I survived, and now it's all I can do to cope with the situation we've been left with.

The gods are imprisoned, Chiron's dead, and camp's a wreck. The mystical barriers surrounding camp are barely holding, and it's only a matter of time before they fail completely. It's often chaos here. The surviving demigods are struggling with this world that's been flipped upside down just as I am. We've all had difficulty coping. We do what we can to get by. We take comfort where we can find it, and I found comfort in the most likely of places, in the most unlikely of ways.

The first year after the war was the hardest by far. I had nightmares every single night, and I cried every single day. I hate crying; it's futile and doesn't fix any problems. It's pathetic, just like it's pathetic to wish for something that's impossible. I wished that Percy was still here. I needed him to still be here, but he was gone, and he wasn't coming back. And so I cried.

Thalia and I tried to support each other. She was devastated by the loss of all of her Hunters, and she dealt with her pain through violence. She was a wrecking ball that first year. She destroyed everything she touched, that is, until Pollux introduced her to her current coping mechanism: alcohol. Now, she uses booze to dull her pain, well, booze and Nico. So, by year two, I was looking for a new support system. I went with the logical choice.

Malcolm was the only other child of Athena to survive. We'd spent quite a bit of time together being roommates in cabin six, so we'd gotten to know each other well. Of course, we were a lot alike, and we both struggled with the loss of wisdom and logic in the world. It began as simple friendship, simple companionship. We trained together, we worked on projects together, we tried to bring order to chaos together, and it was a good fit. He took my mind off the pain and the loss. He even took my mind off Percy, which I would've never thought possible, but after two years, Percy began to slip from my thoughts, though, never from my dreams. There were nights I'd wake up screaming, and Malcolm would hold me in his arms as I cried. He would tell me it was just a dream and that everything was okay. He was lying, of course. Nothing was okay. His compassion was sweet, but there was something else there, something that was far from sweet. It was something daring, something magnetic, something…tempting. There were times he made me want to throw all logic and rational thought out the window, and I must've done the same to him, because eventually, that's exactly what happened.

It has been three years since the war, and I'm a completely different person; I'm hardened inside and out. I've lost pieces of my soul that I will never get back, so I've built up walls, impenetrable walls that no one can ever break down. Though scaling those walls, I've found, isn't impossible, and the day he made it over is a day I'll never forget, no matter how badly I might want to.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was covered in sweat and dirt, but so was he. We'd been training for hours with no end in sight. The arena was empty except for us. The clanging of our blades, the grunts from our throats, and our heavy breathing were the only sounds echoing off the stone arena walls. We'd sparred without a word to one another, which wasn't uncommon. We were there for training not small talk; talk is a distraction. He had become a skilled swordsman and a tough opponent, but I held my own against him, for the most part, anyway. I'm still not sure how it happened, but as I raised my dagger to block his strike, he used a maneuver I'd never seen before to disarm me. The next thing I knew, he had me pinned against the arena wall with his sword pressing against my throat. I was impressed, angry that he'd kicked my ass, but impressed nonetheless. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He just held his blade to my throat as we both tried to catch our breath. His eyes were intense and full of pride, like a storm brewing in his soul. It was like looking into a mirror. He was so close that I could feel the heat from his breath on my face. We were trapped in a stare down, his gray eyes against mine, and when he lowered his sword, I knew I'd won that battle…or so I thought. Without warning, his lips were pressed against mine. I'd like to say I was surprised that he was kissing me, but I wasn't, because this had been a long time coming. I pushed him away. This was wrong on so many levels. But these days, everything was wrong. We were living in a world of chaos with no rules and no consequences. My brain was telling me to run away, but something else inside me was telling me to run to him. He was standing only a few feet away, his eyes boring into me, pressing me to make my decision. At that moment, my logic left me. I let go. I gave in. I kissed him with a need and a passion that was both powerful and satisfying. For the first time since the war, I'd found my escape from the world around me, a way to truly dull the pain, a way to make all the hurt disappear. All I felt at that moment was a tingling in my core and the pounding of his heart. The touch of his rough hand gliding up my bare back beneath my shirt was enough to swiftly erase the chaos, and the feel of his moist lips trailing down my neck was enough to fuel a new kind of chaos, a chaos within myself. I wanted him…no, I needed him. As our clothes hit the arena floor piece by piece, and as he pushed me down on his lap on that same arena floor, I'd long forgotten that what we were doing was wrong. I'd forgotten that the world was wrong. I'd forgotten everything, and finally remembered what contentment was.

That was the first time I had sex with my brother, the first time I let him take my pain away, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.


	2. Nico

Nico

She drives me crazy, and I mean absolute bat-shit crazy. Why do I put up with her? Why do I put myself through this? She's a drunk, she's a bitch, and goddammit, she's got me wrapped around her finger.

When we lost the war and lost most of our friends, nothing was ever the same again; I was never the same again. Coping with this changed world, with the deaths of almost everyone I knew has been the biggest struggle I've ever faced. Camp Half-Blood has become a refuge for the dozen or so demigods that survived. And when I say refuge, I actually mean insane asylum. It seems everyone here has lost their goddamn mind in one way or another, myself included. Annabeth's fucking her brother, Thalia's never _not_ half in the bottle, Katie gets off on having the shit beat out of her, and me, well, I'm in love with the alcoholic daughter of Zeus. Yes, my mind is gone, too.

Well, I say I love her, but I don't know if that's true. I mean, I'm only 16 years old. Is that old enough to know what love is? Either way, I do know I care about her...a lot. She's the only woman I've ever been with. Maybe that's where the connection comes from. It's a unique relationship, to say the least. We're each others release, each others escape from the shitty world around us, and whether it be her beating the hell out of me or me pounding the hell out of her, she never ceases to take my pain away, and I can only hope I do the same for her.

It all started about two years ago, around the time Thalia started drinking. I didn't judge her for using alcohol to dull her pain...not at first. To each their own, right? But when it came to the point when I was having to go to her cabin every night around the time I expected her to pass out to make sure she was sleeping on her stomach and not on her back, because gods forbid she choke on her own vomit in the middle of the night, I knew it was getting out of control. Try telling a drunk they have a problem. She shut me down before all the words even came out of my mouth. She's in denial, or maybe she knows it, but doesn't want to quit for fear of the constant hurt and guilt returning. I'm not really sure. Like it matters. She's never going to stop; she's in too deep.

I guess I could say I'm in too deep, as well. I moved out of cabin 11 and into cabin 10, which was empty, to be closer to her. She was staying in cabin 8. Some nights when I'd go check on her she'd still be awake. She'd proceed to scream at me, telling me she can take care of herself...yeah, right. The screaming match would turn into a fist fight, and eventually, we'd be tangled up in a naked, sweaty mess on her cabin floor. I liked those nights.

The first time we had sex, I'll admit, I was scared to death. I'd just turned 15, and I had no clue what I was doing, but neither did she. It was awkward, very, very, very awkward. We avoided each other for two months after that. But one night, in a drunken stupor, she came over to my cabin. All she had on was a t-shirt, and I knew what she wanted. I could've told her no, that she was drunk and I didn't want to take advantage of her, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna babysit her drunk ass all the time and not get something in return. So, that night, I took it slow, let her sober up a little. She didn't like that idea at first, but the more I trailed my fingers across her smooth skin and kissed her softly all over her body (and oh, my gods what a body), she began to realize we could make this a million times better than the first time, and we could make it last all night, which we did...and half the next day. That demigod stamina comes in handy sometimes.

By the third year, Thalia and I were pretty much all each other had. Annabeth was off in her own little fantasy world with Malcolm. Pollux, well, he was a drunk, too. Katie, Conner, and Clarisse had their own twisted love triangle to work out, and the few other campers that were here just surviving, they pretty much kept to themselves. I wanted to move in with Thalia by then, but she wouldn't have it. I wanted to be able to keep an eye on her, but she knew that's why I suggested it, and that's why she shot down the idea. She didn't want me in her business all the time. I guess I can understand that. There are times I don't even want to look at her, usually after she's called me every derogatory word she can think of then bloodies my nose. I try not to hit her back, but it never works out that way, especially when her powers get involved. Electrocution is not fun…at all. That bitch has nearly put me in a coma, twice. Though, I will say, when I'm on top of her, giving her all I've got, and she runs her fingers down my spine letting the slightest electrical current flow from her body to mine, the sensation is unbelievable, and I know that means I'm doing exactly what she wants.

And now, three years after the war, that's how things are with us: she drinks, we scream and fight, then we fuck. I don't know if I'm anything more to her than a easy lay or an overbearing kid that she finds convenient to beat on, but there are times, times when she's sober and we actually get along, I think she might just care about me a little, too.


	3. Pollux

Pollux

I always knew I'd end up in the liquor business one day. Family tradition, I guess, but I never once imagined it like this. And I never imagined it'd be so much work. Drowning the sorrows of a dozen demigods is a full-time job.

When the war ended, those of us who survived came back here to Camp Half-Blood. It's not much of a camp these days. It's more like ghetto suburbia whose residents are a dozen desperate housewives. Okay, bad analogy, but the point is: camp is a community of crazies. It's not surprising, really. We're a group of teenagers and young adults who were troubled to begin with, then our whole world came crashing down in an instant. We lost everything: our friends, our families, our sense of stability. All we have left is each other, and often, that isn't enough.

I immediately went to the bottle to deal with my pain and anger. I never thought twice about it; it seemed like the natural thing to do. The Dionysus cabin, unbeknownst to anyone, had been making wine from the strawberries grown at camp for years. There's a wine cellar beneath the cabin stocked with nearly a thousand bottles of homemade wine dating back as far as sixty years ago. When Dionysus became the camp director, the wine making stopped, but the cellar was never emptied. Now, it's all I can do to keep it stocked.

Not everyone at camp drinks, though most do. I'd say Thalia and I are the heaviest drinkers, followed closely by Clarisse and the two Hephaestus campers. Nico doesn't drink, though sometimes I know he wants to, and I wouldn't blame him if he did. If I had to put up with Thalia like he does, I'd drink myself into a coma, no doubt about it. She's a big enough pain in my ass trying to keep her liquor cabinet full. I give Connor a small bottle of whiskey every week. He takes a shot every night to help him sleep. Katie will come get a bottle of wine every once in a blue moon when she's having a really good or really bad day. Annabeth will go through about a bottle of wine a week, and the same with Malcolm, except he prefers whiskey.

Booze takes the edge off. It makes everything lose importance, and it makes things easy to forget. I wanted to forget about the war. I wanted to forget so badly. On really shitty days, I'd drink until I forgot I was trying to forget, then I'd wake up two days later with a fucking hangover…and I don't get hangovers. Booze gets me drunk, but luckily, it doesn't make me sick, perk of being the son of the wine god. But there are times when I drink entirely too much, I'll get a hangover to remind me this stuff is killing me, though, that's the point, right?

The war isn't the only reason I took to the bottle. I look around camp and see everyone with a support system: Annabeth and Malcolm, Thalia and Nico, Katie and Clarisse, and as crack as those relationships are, they give comfort to those within them. I don't have that; I don't have anyone, which is just as well, I guess. I never imagined myself being a one-man guy, anyway. Even before the war, relationships were something I avoided. Maybe it was the stigma of being gay that steered me away from it. Now, though, a relationship is something I'd consider. I get lonely, and that's dangerous. I envy those around camp who have someone to help them cope, someone to support them, someone to share their pain. The closest thing I have to that is Connor. He's my pal. He helps me work on my whiskey still, and he's a pretty damn good winemaker. We talk, not a lot, but when either one of us is in need of a good therapy session, we'll talk to one another. I really like the guy, _really_ like him, but as luck would have it, he's straight and totally in love with Katie.

Katie, now there's someone I can't stand. What a bitch. She leads Connor on with her poor, battered woman's act. She brings that shit upon herself. She likes the attention. She wants Clarisse to beat on her, so there's no reason to feel sorry for her, but Connor, he just gets sucked in by her poor, pitiful, me sob story. Whatever, Connor will eventually figure it out and stop enabling her behavior…maybe. Meanwhile, I'm hung out to dry. Okay, now I'm starting to sound pathetic. It's not like he and I would ever be together even if Katie was out of the picture. Oh, well, at least I have my work, and that keeps me busy enough that I don't really think much about a relationship with Connor anymore.

Three years is a long time, but I look back now and wonder where it went. The drinking probably has something to do with that. And I'm glad, because in all honesty, the less I remember, the better. I cope, I numb the pain, and I pass the time the only way I know how. I'm an alcoholic, and that's my coping mechanism.


	4. Connor

Connor

Not a day goes by that I don't think about Travis. He was my brother and my best friend. Now, he's dead. I miss him so much. The world doesn't make sense these days, and it makes even less sense without him. It's like I've lost part of my identity. I know, because I've changed so much in the past three years. The charming, daring, prankster I was has been replaced by this timid, quiet, lonely guy whose only human contact is with a boozer son of Dionysus when he needs me to help him work on his whiskey still or the battered daughter of Demeter when she stops by to be bandaged up after Clarisse beats the hell out of her.

I'm in love with Katie. I can't even try to deny it, and it's really pretty obvious. I'd do anything for her; she's my whole world, but me, I'm just her medic, and I know that's all I'll ever be to her. She hypnotizes me with those beautiful eyes and her sweet smile, then she goes back to Clarisse and that rips out my heart. She takes advantage of my compassion. She takes advantage of our friendship. And I let her...every single time, I let her. How can I tell her to leave me alone when she comes to my cabin beaten to a pulp? I try to convince her to leave Clarisse, but she doesn't listen. She'll never leave her, and if she ever does, it won't be for me, because I'll never hit her. The physical pain from the beatings Clarisse gives her takes away her emotional pain and turmoil. She once told me that when she hurts on the outside, she doesn't hurt on the inside. I don't know if she loves Clarisse or if she just loves how that psycho-bully makes her feel. Either way, its nine kinds of fucked up.

Nico lived with me in cabin eleven for the first year after the war, but I never really got to know him. He was a loner, and I never saw much of him, so I wouldn't exactly call him a friend. By the second year, though, he'd moved out of my cabin and into the empty Aphrodite cabin, which didn't bother me; I never missed him. The first person I really befriended after the war was Pollux. He needed help with his whiskey and winemaking, and he asked me. Originally, Malcolm was helping him, but as smart as that guy is, he hasn't got the finesse to make quality booze. Apparently, I do. Pollux is a good guy. Well, making alcohol for a bunch of teenagers may not be good, but he means well. And he's funny. He keeps me laughing, which is a welcome relief from the constant hurt in my heart. We're close friends, but I know we're not as close as he would like. I've noticed the guy has a thing for me, but I've never called him out on it. He's my friend, and I wouldn't do that to him. It doesn't bother me that he's gay, that would be hypocritical, because I'm in love with a lesbian. Fuck my life. Anyway, I help Pollux with his work, and he gives me all the booze I want. I'm not much of a wine drinker; it gives me a headache, but I do drink whiskey. I don't drink a lot, not compared to Pollux and some of the other campers, but I'll have a shot or two before bed, and occasionally, I'll have a drink with him while we're working. The only times I ever get smashed is when Katie walks away from me.

I've had feelings for Katie since long before the war. I never acted on them, because Travis did, too. I always thought he'd be the one to end up with her. He was crazy about her, but he never told anyone but me. I was angry at my brother for the longest time about that, but now it just seems like such a stupid thing to be pissed about. When we all came back to camp after the war, things were so different. At first, Katie tried to help me deal with the loss, but she was having such a hard time herself that she wasn't really much help. It wasn't long before she stopped helping me and began helping Clarisse. It's strange to imagine Clarisse as an emotional wreck, but that's exactly what she was. She lost her best friend, Selena, and her boyfriend, Chris. She flipped out. She was a cast iron bitch to begin with, and her anger at the situation made her that much worse. She went on rampage after rampage that first year. It's a wonder she didn't murder anyone during one of her tears. When she and Katie got together (and don't ask me how that happened, because I have no fucking idea), she began taking her anger out on Katie. She beat the shit out of Katie all the time. Katie came to me after the beatings to get bandaged up since all of the Apollo campers were dead. I'd whip her up some pain killers from herbs and make her sip nectar to heal her open wounds. I tried to convince her to leave Clarisse until I was blue in the face. It was no use; she wouldn't listen. I told her she could stay with me, that I'd protect her, that I'd take care of her. I tried so hard to convince her. I wanted her to love me as much as I loved her. I wanted to be the one to take her pain away. I could do it without beating her; I know I could, but she won't let me.

Now, three years after the war, I'm still stuck in this same rut, this same endless circle of turmoil and unrequited love. I'm so broken inside, and it's not getting any better; it's just getting worse. Every time Katie comes to my cabin, I get a little sliver of hope, then she walks away, goes back to that monster, and my heart breaks. It breaks for me and for her, because I know there's only so much she can take. One of these days, a beating is going to be more than the nectar can heal, or she's going to decide she's had all she can take and end it herself. I just hope I can talk some sense into her before that happens, and because I love her so much, I'll never stop trying.


	5. Malcolm

Malcolm

Everything was so different, and it had my head spinning. I couldn't make sense of the world, and for me, that was a problem. I'm logical, I'm rational, but how can the near destruction of the world be rationalized? Where was the logic in my survival when so many others died in the war? Change is inevitable, I understand that, but I never liked change. My life has changed so drastically in the past three years that I don't even know if I'd recognize that wise son of Athena I used to be. Anymore, though, the more things change, the more they stay the same. But if there's one thing I've learned through this struggle: good or bad, change is everything.

I kept pretty much to myself the first year after the war. I was just trying to figure things out, which I never did. By the second year, Annabeth and I had become close friends, which shouldn't be too surprising; she _is_ my sister. Getting to know Annabeth took my mind off the chaos and kept my frustration about the circumstances at bay, but eventually, a new frustration began to surface, a frustration with absolutely no basis in logic or rationality.

I was tired, tired of being the good guy, the guy everyone comes to when they need a favor or when they need help with something. At first, it didn't bother me a bit. It kept my mind off what was really going on in the world, what was really going on here at camp, but now I had other responsibilities and other things on my mind. I had Annabeth to worry about now, and trust me, that took up nearly all of my time. Don't get me wrong, Annabeth's not needy, never has been, but this tragedy has really hit her hard. Losing Percy, I think, was the worst part for her. She gets so angry sometimes. I'm not sure who she's angry at: me, herself, maybe just the circumstances? Once, she was so pissed that I thought she was going to slit her own throat with her dagger. I tried to stop her, but I was too late. Thank the gods she was only angry at her hair that time. She chopped her beautiful blond curls off with her dagger, leaving an uneven mop on top of her head. It looked like shit until Katie trimmed it up nice and neat for her. She actually looks even more beautiful with short hair, if that's even possible. It shows off that long, sculpted neck of hers. Annabeth, damn, there was just something about her. I couldn't get her out of my head. She'd wake up screaming from nightmares, and I'd hold her while she cried. She felt so good in my arms. I was drawn to her. I knew it was wrong, and for the longest time I tried to fight my attraction to her, but by the third year after the war, I was done fighting it. I couldn't hold back any longer, and it seemed she couldn't either. That's when our intimate relationship began and our friendship disappeared.

We tried to keep what we were doing a secret, but it wasn't hard for everyone to figure out what was going on between us. I was ashamed and embarrassed, but that didn't stop me from being with her every chance I got. I know I wasn't who she wanted, but I was what she needed. The look on her face when I ran my hand up her thigh was enough to tell me that. I was her escape from the world. I helped her forget, and she made this world of hurt and chaos fall to the wayside when her lips touched mine. When I had her in my bed, my fingers tangled in her short curls, and her moaning for more, I was in Elysium. Getting caught up in the moment, getting caught up in her…I could live there, forever. There was no pain, no heartache, no guilt, only pure pleasure. Her hand on the back of my neck and her hot breath in my ear sent shivers up my spine, and when she begged me not to stop, I wouldn't. I couldn't. When we got lost in each other, it was all I could ever do to bring myself back to the real world, and I never wanted to. I could die in her arms a happy man.

Reality, however, is much harsher. The sexual relationship we built, erased the friendship we built. I miss my friend, and I have a feeling I'll never get her back. We can't pretend what we're doing isn't wrong, so we just never talk about it, as a matter of fact, anymore, we barely talk at all. We live together, we train together, we sleep together, but we don't fit together like we used to. Some nights, the sex is so sensual that I know when she closes her eyes and runs her fingers through my hair, she's making love to someone, but it's not me. Those are the nights, when her bare body is curled up next to mine, and she's sound asleep, she says his name. Percy.

Is it crazy to be jealous of a dead man? Because I am. There are times I wish she would just forget him already, but then again, who would she be if she didn't have his memory to bind her to this world? Would she be the Annabeth I know and love if he disappeared from her heart forever? It's a double-edged blade. Her love for him and her memories of him are part of her soul. She's already lost so much of herself. Who am I to want that piece of her to be gone, too? I'm a monster, because that's exactly what I want.


	6. Thalia

Thalia

They're gone…every single one of them. My sisters are dead; the Hunt is dead, and it's all my fault. I was their lieutenant. I was supposed to protect them, not lead them to their deaths. I was stupid and arrogant for thinking we even had a chance of winning the war. It was a lost cause from the beginning, but we wouldn't dare admit it, so we fought a hopeless battle in vain, and the blood of those who died is on my hands.

The guilt is fucking unbearable, and I'm so angry that all I want to do is break something or kill something, maybe myself. It's not like it's never crossed my mind. It would be so easy that way, but I can't bring myself to actually do it. I'm a coward. And so, I just break things…everything. Annabeth tries to help me, she really does, but she seems so, I don't know, hypocritical, self-righteous, whiny? I guess I shouldn't be so hard on her. She's having a difficult time, too. She lost Percy, and even though their relationship was officially only friendship, it was clear their bond was much deeper. She doesn't talk about him, but the gods know his death is killing her.

It only took about a year for me to break damn near everything in camp, and the campers were almost to the point of kicking my sorry ass to the curb, but as luck would have it, Pollux came up with a better solution to my problem: anger management in a bottle. Drinking away my pain was something I never considered. I'd watched my mother get so smashed so many times, and I swore I would never be her, but that was before my entire world came crashing down around me. I needed something. I was already losing my mind. The nightmares and the memories were driving me mad. I needed an escape. I needed a way to cope. I needed something to dull the pain, and booze did the job, for the most part, anyway.

At first, it started with a nightcap, a glass or two of wine to take the edge off and to help me fall asleep. When two wasn't enough anymore, I drank four, then the whole bottle. It made me feel so much better, nothing mattered when I drank. Whether it be strawberry wine from Pollux's cellar or whiskey fresh from his still, I always had a drink, and I was never stone-cold sober again. No one really cared that I was drinking my worries away. Why would they? They had their on shit to worry about, and if they were going to judge me, then that meant they'd have to take a long, hard look at themselves, and I know most campers would be horrified at what they saw. Only one person ever seemed concerned about my drinking, and that was Nico di Angelo.

He's so annoying, all up in my shit all the time. I get it; he worries, but for the life of me, I can't figure out why. He wasn't like that the first year after the war. As a matter of fact, I barely saw him at all that first year, but by the second year he was following me around like a lost puppy. It was kinda cute at first, but soon he was nothing more than a pain in my ass. He'd changed a lot since the war. He wasn't that little kid I met at Westover Hall anymore. He was well on his way to becoming a grown man even though he was only 15. The crazy world we're living in forced him to grow up fast; it forced all of us to. He'd become the responsible one, the grown up, and I couldn't help but admire that, but that didn't mean I liked it. I told him that if he said one more word about my drinking, I'd kick his ass. He didn't believe me, but by gods, he believes me now.

That's really how things started between us. The fighting was a great distraction from the chaos. It was something we could control, something we could do to release our anger and frustrations. It worked for a while, but eventually, it wasn't enough. I'm not quite sure how it happened. I think I was about to headbutt him or something, but I was stopped cold in my tracks with his lips on mine. He pulled away quickly. I think he was just as surprised at what he'd done as I was, and he apologized. No apology needed; it was kinda nice, actually. I know, weird, right? I don't know what I was thinking; I was drunk, but it was probably something along the lines of _oh, what the hell_, when I leaned in slowly and kissed him. And, well, that lead to the most awkward experience of my life.

Things between us didn't stay awkward for long, though. That old saying _practice makes perfect_, we took it to heart and believe me, it works. He is still an annoying shit-head, and we still fight like cats and dogs, but the fighting always leads to sex, now. It's strange how I can be so angry at him, be pounding my fist into him one minute, and the next minute all I want is for him to grab me in his arms and tell me how beautiful I am, tell me how much he wants and needs me. As good as it feels to fight him, those bat-winged butterflies stirring in my stomach when he kisses my neck feel so much better. And the sex, even better than that. It pisses me off to no end that he makes me feel this way. I'm a Hunter. Boys are evil, right? Ugh, it makes me want to punch him in the face, but then that leads to me pinning him to the floor or him pinning me against the wall or me leaning over the chair...need I go on? It's a vicious cycle...just like the booze.

It's been three years since my world was turned on its end; I've been drinking for two of those years. I always told myself I'd never become my mother, no matter the circumstances. That was an epic fail, because that's exactly who I've turned into. I inherited my father's quick temper and my mother's addictive personality. That's a pretty volatile combination, and poor Nico has put himself in the crossfire. But I will say this, if it weren't for him, I probably wouldn't be here today.


	7. Clarisse

**AN: Wow, it's been a while since I've updated. Sorry about that. I've been really busy cranking out chapters for my latest series. Apologies in advance if this chapter sucks, I've never written Clarisse before. There will be one more chapter after this one, which will be Katie's POV. And who knows when I'll get around to writing it. Soon, I hope.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**-dmac**

Clarisse

Furious. That's the best word to describe how I feel these days. I was never a particularly calm or pleasant person to begin with. Honestly, I've always been a bully, a hard-ass, and a bitch. I'm still those things, just add the word raging to them now. I've been angry since the war. I'm not angry at the situation we're left with. In war, there's always a losing side…always, and the defeated just have to suck it up and suffer the consequences of failure. What I'm angry about is the failure itself. If I would've just swallowed my pride and joined the rest of the campers from the beginning, we could've had a shot. But as it was, I stayed behind with my brothers and sisters for the majority of the battle and left the rest of camp to fight a war. What the fuck was I thinking? I was so stupid. By the time I made it to the battle, we'd already lost. We continued to fight, but it was hopeless, and I lost every brother and sister I had in a futile attempt at a last stand. I let my arrogance and pride get the best of me, and now I'm suffering the consequences. Actually, it's not just me, everyone is suffering from my decisions.

The campers that are left are the sorriest, sad sacks of shit that I've ever seen. How in Hades did these guys manage to survive the war? Dumb luck? I mean, really, the only camper besides myself, that's even worth a damn is Pollux. That kid can make some fire whiskey. The rest of the survivors are deranged. They play house or seclude themselves in their cabins. They try to get as far away from the chaos of the world as they can, but that doesn't work. Hiding from reality doesn't make the truth a lie. And the truth is we're all doomed. We may have survived the war, but we can't survive this changed world, and the other campers need to wake up and face it. It's only a matter of time before the mystical barriers around camp fail, and the monsters destroy us. We continue to train, to prepare ourselves for that day, but no amount of preparation will save us, and everyone knows it, in the back of their minds, they know it, and I look forward to the day.

I lost the two people I cared about most in the war, Chris and Silena, and that pisses me off more than anything. Love is a strong word, a word I don't use…ever, but when I think about Chris and Silena, the hurt in my chest is so bad that I have to blame that nasty four-letter word for it. Stupid love goddess and the stupid feelings she put on everyone and the stupid ache it brings and goddammit, I hate this shit! It makes me want to pound on someone, and I usually do.

At first, I had no regard for who I beat on. It was usually the first person I saw, but now I usually just beat on Katie. We have an arrangement. I'll admit, it's an incredibly deranged arrangement, but like everyone else here, we do what we can to get by. I need a punching bag, and she need to hurt physically. It works out well for both of us. I don't love Katie. Honestly, I don't even like her. She's a wuss and a whiner. She needs the shit beat out of her to toughen her up.

I know that everyone around camp thinks she's my lover, and I won't say we haven't crossed that line a time or two. We all take comfort where we can find it, and there are times I get just drunk enough that I find it in Katie's arms. I couldn't tell you how she feels about me; I don't know, nor do I care. She's nothing more than a convenience to me, and I'm pretty sure that's all I am to her. She wants to feel pain, so I give her pain. Sometimes, I get into such a violent rage that I think I might kill her, and truthfully, sometimes I want to. And I get the feeling that's ultimately what she wants from me. She too scared to off herself. She's a coward, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna give her the satisfaction of doing it for her. If she wants to die, then she needs to grow a pair and do it herself.

I actually don't blame her for wanting to die. I want to die, too. But I'm going to die the right way, in battle with honor. When the time comes and the monsters get into camp, I'll fulfill my duty. I won't stand back and watch this time. I'll fight to my very last breath and die a hero like I should've done in the war. You can bet your ass on that.


End file.
